


The Way We Are

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), unexpected transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Crowley's control slips at the worst possible moment.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 133
Kudos: 646
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	The Way We Are

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to get something new out for the New Year. So here's a little thing I wrote for the kink meme.

It's been months since the first time, but the sight of Crowley in his bed still takes Aziraphale's breath away.

He looks as comfortable here as he does on the sofa in the back room, and that's been learning every one of the demon's angles for almost eighty years.

There's no elegant lounging today though, no cosy slide of legs while Aziraphale reads and Crowley naps. Tonight there had been warm hands and curious fingers, a kiss laid on the bare skin where Aziraphale's nightshirt had slipped open to expose his collarbone and the faint swell of his chest - with the help of mischievous demonic fingers.

Crowley had slithered in close and threaded a leg between his own, hand slipping up under cotton to find the naked softness of Aziraphale's thigh.

"Don't suppose I could encourage you into a bit of indecency?"

It had taken very little after that. Aziraphale hadn't even put up a token protest. The sheets were bunched and disarranged beneath them as Crowley wrestled him out of his nightshirt entirely, hands squeezing and cupping, urging him into a state of blissful readiness. Crowley had eventually ended up on his hands and knees - though his complaints to that were always lacking in sincerity.

Aziraphale can't decide where to look now. The sight of Crowley's long freckled back, bent into an appealing curve and jolting on every thrust, the ruffled shine of his hair in the dim light, the grip of his black-nailed hands in the sheets. It's all beautiful, a gift that Aziraphale still can't quite believe he's allowed, that he can reach out and touch, squeeze and grip while pleasure thrills its way through him. The smooth stretch of the demon's waist beneath his hands, the hard angles of his hips under his fingers. Further down Aziraphale can't help the sharper and far more visceral appreciation as he takes in the demon's flexing thighs and his spread buttocks, the stretch of his pink rim around Aziraphale's cock. Where Crowley had urged him eagerly, greedily. Until a slow flex had left Aziraphale sinking into him only moments ago.

Aziraphale has never needed anything this much, it seems more exquisite every time they come together. Every time they fit their corporations inside each other in this human way it feels like the first time, and it takes him to pieces all over again. To be this close to Crowley, to always be close to Crowley. Aziraphale wants to press into him as deep as he's able and feel him shake and clench and tighten with bliss. He wants to fall over the edge with him, he wants _everything._

It's easy enough to urge Crowley down into the sheets, to have his knees spreading outwards, hips lifting back as he gives a hissing grunt of approval. Aziraphale presses him down into the bed with his own weight and holds him there, though his eager, driving thrusts still leave Crowley's pinned body shaking.

"Fuck, that's it, angel, yes, yes." Crowley shoves a pillow out of the way, fingers immediately dragging up the sheet beneath them.

He's so very tight, squeezing and slick inside, and every sink into the stretched core of him fills the room with obscene wet sounds of pleasure that have Aziraphale's face heating and his insides clenching in warm delight.

"Crowley." Aziraphale can't resist curling an arm around him, tangling them up as tightly as he can. 

Crowley gives a low hissing moan, his whole body tightening and pushing back into the soft curve of Aziraphale's hips. A whine breaks in his throat as he tries to brace himself, only to be shaken by the next hard thrust. Aziraphale has never heard him sound so desperate, so delirious. It's impossibly arousing.

But suddenly Crowley gives a shudder, and then his whole body jerks in what feels like confusion, or panic.

"No -"

It happens so quickly, Crowley's spine flexes, twists - and suddenly the body beneath Aziraphale is a winding curve of muscle, of contracting loops, glossy black and red scales and panicked hissing. Where a moment ago Aziraphale had been thrusting into the stretched ring of his anus he's now buried deep in Crowley's painfully tight cloaca, that flushed, bright pink opening stretched obscenely around him, Crowley's long dark tail twisted awkwardly to one side. The opening looks too small to fit him, forced painfully wide by his last aborted thrust.

Aziraphale stills, terrified that he'd hurt Crowley unintentionally. But, before he can draw free and apologise, Crowley's whole body contracts sharply away from him, a squirming thrash that tugs Crowley's tail up the bed, and leaves Aziraphale's cock wet and naked against the sheets.

The movement is so sudden that Aziraphale feels the sting of it.

"Crowley -" He's half reaching for him when Crowley's form seems to shake itself, scales submerging under human skin, tail splitting awkwardly to leave the demon's knees sprawled underneath him, hands falling to support his new shape.

"I'm sssorry," Crowley says immediately, before he's taken a proper breath, legs still skidding as he adjusts to having limbs again. Aziraphale has never seen him transform so quickly. "Fuck, I didn't mean to change, it was an accident, I lost control."

Apologies are so rare for Crowley, at least ones not layered with an air of sarcasm. But there's an unpleasant taste of furious misery to this one, so much that Aziraphale finds himself sliding a hand up the bed, laying his fingers over Crowley's. They curl inwards, clawing the sheets, and it almost feels as though he might pull away until Aziraphale tightens his grip.

"Crowley -"

"It was an accident," Crowley says again. "It was so good for a moment that I forgot." The words are tight and oddly brittle. It's clear to Aziraphale that the mood is gone, that this is something Crowley didn't want to happen, something he was afraid of, or ashamed of. Worse than that, everything about him says that he thinks he's done something terrible.

"It's alright," Aziraphale reassures him. He's known Crowley for long enough to understand that his serpent form is as much a part of him as his wings. Aziraphale has seen Crowley's curling, sinuous snake body far more often than he's seen the demon expose his wings. On more than one drunken occasion he'd even found himself addressing a comment to a sprawl of dark scales and weaving snout, much to his amusement. He'd assumed that meant Crowley was relatively comfortable presenting like that around him, and he'd been expecting to see it more often since they'd begun their far more intimate relationship. 

But Crowley had seemed oddly shy about changing, and Aziraphale had resolved to give him time, to not push him, assuming that he'd eventually feel more comfortable using his other form when they were relaxing together. But perhaps it wasn't shyness after all.

"My love, it's alright, it's perfectly alright."

Crowley frowns at him for a moment, as if he's not expecting the reassurance - as if he's expecting something far worse. But then something in him seems to settle, shoulders relaxing out of a painful looking arch. 

"It won't happen again, angel," he says firmly, and there's a snap in the words like he's threatening himself. "Promise."

"Crowley, would you look at me, please." Aziraphale finds suddenly that he badly needs to see the demon's face.

Crowley's mouth thins, but he does as he's asked, head tipping back to expose the stretch of his yellow eyes. He's gotten used to hiding them, but he forgets sometimes how expressive his face can be. It's so easy to see how pained and unhappy he is, though there are notes of relief and of quiet desperation to fix whatever he'd broken -

Aziraphale misses the teasing hunger from before, the way those laughing eyes had swept his form with such a depth of affection, of admiration.

"Are you alright?" That's the most important thing he needs to know. The transformation had been unexpected and there'd been no chance to make any allowances for Crowley's different body shape. Or to ask him if he even wanted to have sex as a snake - to be penetrated in that form. "The change was very quick and I can't imagine your other form is suited for - well, for that. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"You didn't," Crowley says quickly, he shakes his head, mouth pulling up and there are so many emotions being quickly and aggressively packed away. "You didn't hurt me."

Crowley's arm stiffens when Aziraphale's hand slides upwards to wrap around his bicep and squeeze as much reassurance as he can. The skin is cold under his fingers.

"Will you let me hold you?" Aziraphale asks quietly. Because suddenly the idea of not touching Crowley is unbearable.

Crowley's eyes half-shut but his knees shift in the sheets, shuffling him closer, and that's answer enough. Aziraphale draws him in, curls their bodies together again, pressing pillows into service against the headboard and encouraging the demon to settle against him. 

"I think we need to talk about this," he says at last.

"Could we not?" Crowley says tightly. "I told you, it won't happen again."

Which, Aziraphale thinks, is where the problem lies. "I think you upset yourself more than me tonight, darling," he explains gently.

Crowley frowns as if the reminder pains him. "Can't exactly have been fun for you, to suddenly find yourself fucking a snake - " His mouth twists, as if he wants to force the rest out just to hear it, just to punish himself. But doesn't want to remind Aziraphale of what he'd done. "You didn't sign up for that."

Aziraphale's hand moves to the faint patch of scales on Crowley's bare hip, that he's never found anything but beautiful. Crowley's fingers flutter uncertainly, and even the suggestion that he might cover them is enough to hurt. 

"I found myself making love to you," Aziraphale tells him honestly. "That was never not true, and my first thought was worry that your serpent form might be incompatible with mine that way. Crowley, I love you, and I have done for a long time, if you think I pick and choose the parts of you to love based on their design, or their construction." Aziraphale pulls at the warm curve of the demon's angular hip, kisses his temple. "We're not mortals, we are so much more than that. I can be a little judgemental at times, but not for that. Never, ever for that."

"It's still not polite to jussst -" Crowley makes a frustrated noise at his own hissing. "To just change on you without warning though. Without even checking if you'd even want something like that." The words are stiff and unhappy but Crowley's fingers slide over the back of his hand and Aziraphale doesn't hesitate to thread his own fingers through them.

"If I'd known you were holding yourself back I would have said something," Aziraphale says, and perhaps that was his fault, perhaps that was something he'd missed. "I would never want you to be uncomfortable, and I would never suggest intimacy in any way that you would find distasteful. I understand someone can have parts of themself they'd rather not expose or have touched. But I love you, whether you wear skin, or scales, or -" Or the splintered tangle of broken harmonies and dark light that Aziraphale had felt when they briefly touched, briefly shared the same space as they slid into each other's skin. "Would you love or desire me any less if I had another physical form? If I found myself, in a moment of pleasure, slipping into it beneath you."

Crowley turns his face, mutters something that sounds like a definite no into the soft skin of his neck. Before he sighs and twists back far enough for Aziraphale to see the curl of his mouth. "Course not, don't be stupid."

"Then why would you expect me to do anything less? If you find sex enjoyable that way then I'm happy to expand our experiments in physical pleasure. I'm happy to be loved or to love you in any way that pleases you."

"Aziraphale." There's a hiss, as if he's being difficult, appeasing him in some way. Aziraphale tightens his grip and hums, bends to press another kiss to the top of Crowley's head.

"Did you expect my love to have limits?"

There's a long, strange pause and then something that sounds like a quiet sob. Nothing comes after but the slow tremble of Crowley's shoulders. Aziraphale strokes a hand down his back, makes soothing noises and draws the sheet over them both.

"Never, my love, until the end of time."


End file.
